Thunderstruck
by hannahisnotarealperson
Summary: The impending war with the Klingons appears to be nullified, for now, as Hannah (OC) returns to the Enterprise. Fresh wounds have strained her relationship with Kirk, but have they rendered it irreparable, or can they bounce back from this new strain, whilst keeping the Klingons at bay. Kirk/OC
1. Chapter 1

The Enterprise had been docked at Yorktown for two days, the crew members enjoying the luxuries available to them in the high-tech Star Fleet base. They were spread far and wide across the Snow Globe In Space, each meeting up with friends and family, eating and drinking to their hearts content. Enjoying the week of freedom they had, feeling as though they had thoroughly earned this break from endless space. All felt a wave of relief and relaxation, excited to restock with supplies - real food, not rations!

* * *

The shuttle bearing the supplies carried more than just food, having travelled a great distance from Earth to carry a certain item back to The Enterprise. Hannah was sat in the back alongside the crates and boxes, filthy and dishevelled. Her hair hung loose in a wild bush, forced back off her face in repeated sweeps of her hand. She itched with the need to escape the small shuttle, and so the noise of docking was music to her ears. It was only as the bay doors opened that a ripping ran through her gut. Fear shot through like never before, excuses for her absence flying through her mind and all failing to sound genuine. But the truth was too harsh for her to bear speaking aloud.

She darted out of the shuttle quickly, before the pilot could realise she was there, and disappeared into the swarms of people hurrying into the main glass dome of Yorktown.

The light was far brighter in there than she expected. Used to the darkness of the shuttle, Hannah squinted around the bright white of Yorktown, the artificial day blinding her. Remaining close to the wall, she blinked rapidly, desperately trying to get her sight back before someone noticed her.

"Hannah?"

Crap.

She spun towards the voice, peering into the light, as a figure shed its blur.

"Lenny," Hannah greeted with a fake brightness that was as glaringly false as the lighting. "Long time no see." McCoy raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed by her light-handed comments. He grasped her arm and guided her through the crowd, all the time berating her, demanding answers that she had yet created.

"Where the hell have you been?" Was the first impossible question. "Why haven't you called any of us? How did you get here?"

Hannah bit the inside of her cheek, blood welling up into her mouth, before she answered one of the tirade of questions.

"Well. There was the hearing. You know, where I was accused of crimes against humanity?" She stopped in the hall, grinding the two of them to a halt. McCoy turned on her, holding her in place as though afraid she'd vanish again.

"That was nearly a year ago." McCoy's voice was cold. Harsh. Unforgiving.

"I know - trust me, I have answers. Just, not here, okay?" Hannah pleaded. McCoy scoffed and moved to walk away, disgust rippling through the air between them. Hannah caught his elbow and spun him to face her. "Lenny, please. I can't explain yet, but I will. And I need you to do me a favour."

* * *

Sat in the otherwise-deserted Medbay, in the otherwise-empty spaceship, Hannah watched McCoy scan her with the tricorder. A frown furrowed his brow, and he glanced up at her briefly. His gaze didn't linger, in fact, if Hannah hadn't been waiting for it, she wouldn't have noticed it. McCoy didn't speak, but the unspoken thoughts were deafening.

"You're bleeding," he said instead. "Lie down." Hannah complied. She watched as McCoy swiped the blood away from between her legs, professional mask on disguising any awkwardness he felt about his current sight line. He opened his mouth to speak but Hannah cut him off.

"Please, don't," she whispered, turning her face away. A quiver found its way into her voice, as she shut her eyes. She didn't need to see McCoy's pity reflected back at her in the white of the walls. "And please, don't tell Jim. He doesn't need to know." Hannah swallowed difficultly, a lump in her throat blocking the action. The wetness on her face seemed to surprise even herself, and she unconsciously raised a hand to swipe away the tears.

"Don't tell me what, exactly?"

* * *

Kirk's fury was evident. He stood in the doorway of the Medbay, arms crossed, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to contain his anger. Hannah pressed her eyes closed tighter still, choking back the emotions that already began to leak out of her.

"Jim," she began, but Kirk didn't allow her to continue, cutting her off with clipped words and stalking over towards her.

"No. Don't you dare lie your way out of this." His jaw clenched as he swallowed. "You go missing for nine months. No messages, no explanation, no nothing. You don't just show up expect all to be forgiven."

The tears flooded out of Hannah now, a shake quaking through her breaths as she sat up and faced Kirk. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and pushed the dress over her knees, hiding the stains of blood that lingered on her thighs. She reached for Kirk's hand, but caught herself, finger's breadth away from touching him. She choked on the lump that grew in her throat.

"I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "I will, but Jim-"

"You're unbelievable," Kirk shook his head. "Unbelievable." He didn't wait for her to speak more, only stormed out of the Medbay. Hannah stared after the retreating form, tears blurring her vision, and stood as though to follow him but her legs crumbled underneath her.

McCoy's firm hands grasped her by the elbows and hauled her upright, placing her back on the bed.

"You need to talk to him," he told her. "You owe it to him." McCoy moved around the bed, pressing an injection into her neck with a hiss of releasing air. "Whether the baby was his or not, he should know."

* * *

Hannah stayed in the deserted shell of a ship long after Kirk swept out, blazing a trail of anger. The memory of their last argument resurfaced in her mind; the argument that had shook the Enterprise, left them in an almost irreparable state, or so she had thought. Whilst powerful and impactful, their argument had faded after nothing more than a few days, allowing each other to explain their sides. They had let each other back in, they had let the argument fade to nothing.

Hannah didn't think that would happen this time. They were both too wounded this time, the betrayal on both sides following too soon, lasting too long. Hannah's heart tore itself into pieces, latching on to itself with teeth and shredding itself whenever she let her mind drift back to Kirk. She had spent months on that Klingon slave planet, trying to work out how to explain to Kirk her situation, her punishment. She had never intended to start a war - and in fact, hadn't - but Star Fleet and the Klingon High Council punished her as though she had. Star Fleet had been generous, merely revoking her status as ensign, insisting that she train at the academy when she returned to Earth, and handed her over to the Klingons without so much as a bat of an eyelid. The Klingons, however, were feeling less generous. The Klingon Captain she had so recklessly threatened was the one to dole out her punishment, acting as overseer on the slave-world to which she was assigned. He did not spare any punishment, insisting she perform the more gruelling tasks, as well as patch up the other slaves when they got injured. When her pregnancy became too advanced to hide, she was treated even harsh. Food was withheld, medicines she needed held just out of reach. It wasn't until a supply ship landed that she and a few other managed to sneak on-board and escape to Qu'noS, where escape became even harder. It was on Qu'noS itself that Hannah's waters broke. It was on Qu'noS that she gave birth, in a cave, out of the main city, surrounded by the ill and dying, by dirt and filth and disease. It was on Qu'noS when she discovered that in her hardship she had lost her baby. It was on Qu'noS where her fellow escapees abandoned her, and left her for dead, to follow her child to whatever afterlife there may be. And despite everything, despite all the trauma and pain she had been dealt, she forced herself to endure it. She forced herself out of the cave, and onwards, back, towards Jim. Surely he had gotten some of her distress signals, surely at least one had reached him by now. Surely he'd know she was still alive, and hadn't given up yet.

* * *

Kirk buried himself in work, avoiding McCoy and Hannah at all costs. Avoiding Hannah was not difficult, for she was barely convinced to leave the Med Bay of the Enterprise, and when McCoy was successful in coaxing her into Yorktown, she then refused to leave her room. Kirk found himself drinking more and eating less; working endlessly, and denying himself sleep. He would be found, writing reports in a secluded area of the base, whiskey resting on the nearest surface. It was somewhere between surprising and alarming that his superiors did not recognise the signs of the report being written by a drunk man, but they did. Days passed in an endless blur, just report after report, meeting upon meeting. He did not know how to approach Hannah, or even if he wanted to. The final year of the five year mission had been undeniable torment without so much as a message from her. He had frequently found himself letting him mind drift back to her, wondering where she was and what she had suffered as penance for her crime. Eventually he had searched the database for her sentence, and found it to be light. The excuses he had made for her absence all fell to ash. She was not serving time in any prison, she was not detained in anyway. She simply had to retrain, take a year's course to remind her of the values that Star Fleet stood for. And he had suffered for _months_ thinking the worst had happened to her. The despair bled into anger, and he found himself hating her for her silence. He felt abandoned and helpless, for no matter whether he was longing after her, or hating her, she still occupied a space in his mind, and he despised the hold she had on him.

* * *

The day that Hannah left her room, was the day that Kirk decided to be the bigger man and go talk to her.

They ran into each other in the corridor outside her room, Hannah still clinging on to her attire of loose t shirts and leggings. Comfort clothes that hid her malnourished frame, and the remnants of a pregnancy that still lingered on her midriff. Hannah froze, a deer caught in the headlights, her eyes wide, as though fear flooded her at the sight of Captain James Tiberius Kirk. Kirk halted in his movements as well, and the two of them stared at each other, horrified. At the sight of the other, all words they had hoped to exchange were gone. Hannah felt a knife pierce through her ribs as she saw the hostility lurking in Kirk's eyes. She stepped back in surprise, and Kirk's gaze softened, but it was too late. Hannah shook her head slightly, and backed away from him.

"What made you hate me so?" She asked, the words catching on their way to Kirk. "Why did you never come for me?" Kirk strode towards her, closing the distance between the two of them. Hannah pressed her back to the wall, the cold of the wall stealing the heat from her back.

"Why would I have come for you?" He snapped at her, the words flying towards her. Hannah dragged her gaze up from the ground, the horror and fear fading out to anger. Her eyes pricked as tears sparked in the back of her eyes, but they were tears from fury, not sorrow. Her blood boiled, and the words failed her. She stared at Kirk, unable to articulate the overwhelming betrayal that swam through her; the loss that hit her with those seven words. She had wasted months of her life hoping for this reunion, and Kirk had destroyed it with a single question.


	2. Chapter 2

"Have you told him yet?"

Hannah didn't look up from the mug of coffee she was cradling. Her hair hung lankly down past her shoulders, tousled and messy from sleep. It was clean, she had managed to bring herself to shower, but that was the extent of her energy. She had needed to scrub that place off of her, finally bringing herself to do it after encountering Kirk in that hallway. And scrub she had. Her skin was pink for hours afterwards, the anguished scream of frustration still ringing in her ears. She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. Words required too much effort, and she was tired. McCoy sat down heavily in the chair opposite, the mug he held slamming into the table between them. The noise caused Hannah to leap in her skin, stared, affronted, at him. "Dammit, Hannah," muttered McCoy, before leaning across the gap between them and grasping her wrist. "Look, I am your doctor, not your therapist. I am not going to go all touchy-feely on you, I am not going to listen to your sob story. But I am Kirk's friend. He has a right to know."

"I know," the sound that fled Hannah was small. She looked up from the hand holding her wrist in place. "It's just…" She trailed off, before snapping her gaze on to McCoy. He was surprised to find the steely gaze that had so often challenged him before staring right through him. "It takes everything I have not to blurt it out when we argue. I don't want to tell him like that, but every time he sees me, he picks a fight." McCoy scoffed to himself, a low noise that was barely audible, but just loud enough to earn him a flashing glower from Hannah. She twisted her arm free of his grip, and wrapped her arms protectively over her stomach. "It'd be easier if he apologised," She muttered to the coffee.

"For what?" Hannah's head snapped back up to glare at McCoy.

"For what?" She echoed, glancing off to her right as though looking for someone to back her up. "Oh, I don't know. For assuming I was the type of person to just leave him hanging like that. For thinking I had a choice in the non-communication situation. And, oh yeah, for flat out leaving me stranded there - every time I could I sent a distress signal directly to the Enterprise. It's not like he didn't know exactly where I was!" Hannah's voice had risen in pitch through her speech, until it ended in a shrill hiss. Low in volume, but high in pitch, her voice pierced through McCoy. Hannah had risen also, leaning across the table, hands splayed flat either side of the small square, her coffee spilling over the edge, staining the carpet a deep, rusted brown. She breathed out heavily, her anger swelling in her throat. "I'll talk to him, when he stops blaming me for his actions," She spat. She stood straight, and moved as though to leave, but her vision suddenly blurred to black, pixelated until the fuzzy ringing swallowed her, and she fell to the ground.

* * *

Yorktown's MedBay was near identical to the Enterprise's, only much bigger. Hannah shut her eyes tighter against the light she could feel pressing into her eyelids.

"She's awake," commented a voice from by her feet. A rush of movement flooded her ears, and Hannah lifted a hand to press to her forehead, a tugging on her arm forcing her to open her eyes to see what pulled at her skin. An IV stuck out of her hand and she groaned, closing her eyes once more.

"How have you not found a more efficient means of getting fluids into someone?" She grumbled as hands grasped her forearm tightly. She didn't open her eyes this time, instead tried to work out the owner of the hands from touch alone. It was easier than lifting her eyelids. They were so heavy, and she just wanted to go. To be left alone, or to sleep, or just for this hell of an existence to stop for five minutes. One of the hands released her, and allowed the other to soothingly stroke her arm. It was a tender action, almost motherly, in its blatant affection.

"She's a patient, not a cat," grumbled the Southern Belle of a Doctor. Hannah blearily opened her eyes for a second time, and stared up at McCoy, standing by the foot of her bed. Hannah smiled weakly at him, gaining a grunt in response. She rolled her head to the side, finally discovering the owner of the hand was in fact, Uhura. Hannah slowly moved her other hand across and gripped Uhura's hand. Her question, asked with a glance at McCoy and a raise of an eyebrow, was answered after a hesitant pause. "You had a tear in your uterine wall. When you were yelling at me, you must have ripped it open, and so," McCoy mimed a figure falling over a short flick of his hand. Hannah groaned in response, and forced herself upright. To her surprise, Kirk stood against the far wall, still furious, but laced with concern. Hannah quickly turned on McCoy, her mouth opening to form accusations, but he raised his hands in surrender.

"Did you-?"

-"I haven't said a word!" Protested the Doctor. Hannah's gaze linger on him, before she believed him. She propped herself up on to her elbows, shuffling the pillows up behind her to support her. She glanced between him and Uhura, and smiled apologetically at them.

"Can you give us a minute?" She asked, hand sliding from Uhura's. Uhura lifted her hand and placed it on Hannah's shoulder, a comfort to the bedridden woman. Promises of staying outside flitted through the air, as Uhura moved elegantly across the room, and disappeared out the door, tugging it shut behind her with a definitive _click_.

* * *

Only Hannah and Kirk remained in the room, neither willing to speak first. Kirk pushed himself up off the wall, and sat on the edge of her bed, arms remaining crossed the entire time.

"Are you going to tell me the truth this time?" He asked the white wall. Hannah leant to the side to stare him in the face. Waiting for him to turn to look at her, she withheld her answer, only desperately trying to regulate the breathing which quickened.

"Are you going to listen to me this time?" She retorted, equal venom in her voice. Kirk held her gaze steady, and the silence deafened them. Stubborn to the end, they stared each other down, and watched for the cracks. Hannah broke first. She tore her gaze from Kirk's, glowering intently at the IV in her arm. "Why didn't you come?"

"Where? To Earth, why would I come after you?" Kirk's puzzlement seemed genuine, and Hannah's head snapped up.

"I mean, alternatively you could have come to moon I was on, but sure. Go to Earth, you'd have been equally useless there," She spat. Kirk snapped his mouth shut, teeth clattering together, biting back his response. Hannah clenched her jaw, and hardened her gaze. "I sent distress call, after distress call, after _fucking_ distress call, and you have the audacity to pretend like you don't know what I'm on about?" She scoffed. Her breath caught in her throat, and she pursed her lips together in a thin line in a last ditch attempt to control her breathing. She failed to regulate it, her breaths coming in huge heaving sobs, but no tears fell.

"I _don't_ know what you're on about," Kirk insisted, standing, trying to rid himself of the nervous energy that filled him. "I didn't get any distress call, I didn't get anything from you for nearly a year." Hannah glared at him.

"Get out."

"What?"

"If you're just going to lie to my face, then get. The hell. Out," She spat. Hysterics rose in her, and she snatched the first loose item up off the bedside table and hurled it at Kirk. "Get out!" The voice rose to a scream as the lamp shattered on the wall behind Kirk's head. He stared at her in amazement, then slowly turned and stalked from the room.

* * *

Hannah stared at the wall where Kirk's head had just been and curled into a ball. The IV tugging at her skin as she wrapped her arms around her, cradling herself, a false pretence at comfort. The anger no longer ran through her. Fury and sorrow had deserted her, and left her empty, a shell of the person she once was. Loss defined her, and somehow seemed to seep backwards in time, defining her history, guiding all her actions up until this moment. She retreated into herself, and let the hospital room fall away from his vision, and clung on to her own frame.

* * *

The Enterprise was due to depart later that day, when Hannah decided that she had moped enough. Steeling herself to go talk to Kirk, to not get angry with him and actually listen to him this time, she stumbled out of the small room. Her legs were weaker than she expected, almost trembling under her weight. They grew steadier with each step, growing in strength and determination. Hannah found herself almost sprinting towards the Enterprise, held back only by the pounding fear of rejection that intersected her desperation.

She passed McCoy in the corridor, who took one look at the hurrying woman, and shook his head. Hannah glanced back at him, and spoke, just loud enough for McCoy to hear.

"You said it yourself, he has a right to know." She grinned at McCoy, spinning back around and continuing to rush towards the Enterprise.

* * *

When she arrived, she demanded of the first console she could find whether the captain was on board or not. The computer did not answer, but a voice behind her did. Hannah spun to find Spock, disapprovingly looking down on her. Hannah locked eyes with him and smiled at him.

"I threw a lamp at the Captain. He deserves an apology and an explanation." Was all the comment she offered. This seemed to suffice for Spock, who reminded her she was not authorised to travel aboard the Enterprise, but also told her she would find Kirk in his quarters. Hannah beamed, flung her arms around Spock and rushed off down the corridor. Her thanks flew back at him over her shoulder, lost in the hum of machinery.

* * *

The chime at Kirk's door alerted him to a visitor. None but Spock knew he was in his quarters, so Kirk ignored the chime, instead picking up a PADD from his desk and moving over the couch. Scanning through the words scrolling across the screen, Kirk sank heavily into the couch, placing his feet up on to the coffee table. He confirmed pre-flight checks, and continued to ignore the chiming at his door as it sounded again. He knew that it wasn't Spock - by now the pointy eared bastard would have used his override code to gain access to Kirk's room. Ignoring Spock never was successful, as he had access to every room on the ship. Kirk slid further down the couch, hiding behind the PADD, as though his visitor could see him. One more chime echoed at his door, swiftly followed by a thumping on his door, loud; demanding pounding fists colliding with the metal.

"Jim, come on, I know you're in there," came the plead through the door. Kirk looked up slowly. Carefully placing the PADD by his side, he stared at the door. An internal debate fought itself on his face, before he swore under his breath and flung himself upright. The door slid open revealing a sorrowful Hannah. She slowly lowered the fist that was still raised in the ghost of a knock, and looked up sheepishly at Kirk.

"I'm sorry for throwing a lamp at you. But I'm not sorry for my anger," She offered. Kirk rolled his eyes and stepped aside, allowing Hannah to enter his room.

"You never are," He muttered. Hannah's snapped back around to look at him, faltering in her step as the door slid shut behind her. Kirk's gaze softened slightly, and he huffed out a deep breath. "You came here to talk. I won't cut in this time," he permitted, collapsing back on to the couch.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hey, I'm not a huge fan of the insertion of Author's Notes as much as I was when I was a kid, but I feel I owe an explanation to my erratic updates. I am continuing this fanfic, and hopefully will stick with it to completion (I make no promises), but I am also working on my own original content as well as focusing on my uni work, and as ever, rowing, so this may have to take a backseat occasionally.  
That being said, I will try to update this as frequently as possible, and I hope you'll bear with me!  
Thanks,  
Han x**

* * *

Over the next few days, Hannah and Kirk's interactions were tense. They were civil - polite to each other and the rest of the crew - but there was a distinct coldness between the two of them. Any warmth that had previously been carefully tended and nurtured was now long dead. Whilst Kirk was happy to provide Hannah with transport back to Earth, that didn't mean he was happy to talk to her. The ordeal she had been through sounded terrible, it was terrible, traumatic, horrifying - even adjective he could think of applied to her situation. Yet, he'd spent a year feeling like he'd been snubbed, feeling anger and dejection. It was not so easy to shake off the anger he felt, to simply put it aside and go back to where they had been.

Equally, Hannah could barely bear to look at him. He held in anger in his shoulders. Despite his obvious attempts to keep his face neutral around her, his shoulders remained tense, muscles contracted as though preparing for a fight. Hannah knew herself that she must look equally argumentative, arms often wrapped around her waist, eyes fixed to the floor when Kirk passed. Despite his insistence that no distress calls had reached the Enterprise, Hannah couldn't quite believe it. She had sent them by the dozen, to every possible sector of space, and they hadn't been intercepted. She knew that in her gut, after all, if they'd been intercepted surely the Klingons would have devised some new and unusually cruel punishment for her. Kirk _must_ have received them, there was no other explanation in her mind, but she couldn't believe he wouldn't come help her if he had.

* * *

The days passed in a blur, defined only by awkward interactions. Kirk's pitying looks, coupled with the tension he carried with him when interacting with her, drove Hannah insane. She resorted to avoiding him best she could, which led to her hiding out in places she knew he'd avoid: the brig - because that was where Cupcake was stationed, and Kirk and him still didn't see eye-to-eye on anything; bar brawls and grudges held for three years will sour a possible friendship - Med Bay, and of course, her own quarters.  
But her own quarters were too quiet, too alone, for her to ever feel at home in them. The silence became eerie to her, though it wasn't silence. Not truly. The sheer existence of the background hum of life disturbed her, the vibrations from the warp core shaking her to her very core in a way she didn't understand herself. The faint tendrils of voices that whispered through the walls threatened her with inaudible threats. And most terrifyingly, she was alone to think. At least in public spaces she could distract herself with the movements of others; people watching to squash her own thoughts down into the abscess that brewed inside her, poisoning her slowly. In public there was sound, light, movement, the shifting of air currents, generated by someone simply lifting a hand in greeting. In public there was safety from herself.

* * *

Hiding in the Med Bay, Hannah trailed after McCoy, following him into his office. She perched herself on the edge of his desk, whilst he rummaged through various vials, and tubes, an attempt to sort the room out whilst he had the chance. Every now and again, he would pause and look over to her, opening his mouth as though to speak, and then snapping it shut again.

"You're being too quiet, it's really disturbing me," McCoy finally snapped, whipping himself around and crossing his arms. "It's like Spock having an opening, and not choosing to sass someone."  
Hannah shrugged, sighing heavily. Her back curved, and she slumped backwards, propping herself up with one hand.

"Just not in a talkative mood," She spoke in a quiet tone, talking more to the floor than to McCoy.

"Bullshit. You are always in a talkative mood," rebuked McCoy, staring her down. "Deal with your shit - I don't care how, just don't do it in my Med Bay." He raised an eyebrow at the bowed head, the eyelids that faced him instead of her eyes. Then, a flicker of movement. Her eyes snapped up to him, and she met his gaze equally hard. Eternity passed in a handful of seconds.

"Thanks," Hannah finally spoke, breaking the tension in the air, and shoving herself off the desk. She grinned at the CMO and nudged him with her shoulder on her way out. "You're the best, Lenny."

McCoy frown seemed to deepen. Positively scowling on the nickname, he called after her:

"Don't - Don't call me that - Hannah!"

Hannah didn't answer, merely danced on out of the Med Bay, notably cheerier than she'd been since boarding the Enterprise.

* * *

Kirk slumped in his chair.  
The journey back to Earth was bound to be uneventful. They were in their own territory, with no expected rendezvous with other ships. The likelihood of a disaster on a nearby planet needing the help of the Enterprise was slim. Very slim. And a week suddenly felt too long. Yorktown was a sizeable journey from Earth, far enough to make sharing the same ship with Hannah uncomfortable. She was everywhere - in the corridor, in the mess hall, talking to their shared friends. Uhura had very much taken her side in any squabbles that broke out, and Bones seemed to have taken on the role as her confidant. Kirk couldn't help but feel replaced. Any part in her life that he had occupied had closed over, the scar tissue of anger all she had to show for their relationship.

He let out a heavy breath, and pushed himself upright, straightening out his spine, and fiddling with the control panel in the arm of his chair. A message popped up on the screen, the pattern of words swimming unhelpfully before his eyes, causing the nonsensical message to turn to even greater nonsense. He furrowed his brow at the message, squinting slightly, as though that might help the words hold their place, stay still long enough for him to decipher quite what the connotations of this short, unhelpfully brief, demand meant. It did not help.

Another deep breath fell from his lips and he stood.

"If you need me, I'll be in my ready room," Kirk announced to Sulu, who twisted his neck to look at the Captain, nodded once, and then returned his focus to piloting the ship through the vast expanse of space that stretched between him and home.

* * *

The door to Kirk's ready room slid shut behind him. He followed Hannah across the room to where she stood, facing out into the endless night.

The expanse of stars - constellations that changed and blurred as they hurried on through the eternity of space. Partially the black of void, the nothingness that invaded everything as far as the eye could see, but mostly there was life. Stars and planets and life thrived just outside the glass, all waiting to be discovered, to have first contact made, to explore the galaxy themselves. Millions of lifeforms bubbled into existence within a hair's breadth on the glass, and then was gone.

Hannah heard the doors slid shut, and turned around. Excitement stole her breath, and she felt dawn on her face as she looked at Kirk. Bright and rosy-fingered Dawn smiled upon Hannah's face as she breathed in Kirk, realising for the first time since seeing him how much her heart had ached in his absence. She didn't need him in her life, she could quite happily go to Earth, find a new life for herself there, but she wanted to have him in it. She was choosing him.

Kirk watched her, waiting for her to speak. Her manner seemed off somehow, the lack of low brewing anger, the warmth in her expression was such a shock compared to the last few days that he did not know what to make of it. He was ill-at-ease almost, feeling disorientated, a whiplash of emotions.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jim, not if you don't want me to," She said finally. Kirk merely looked at her. "I'm sorry about how I've acted - I was hurt, angry, and I took it out on you - but I want to be here," She pressed her hand against Kirk's chest, stepping closer to him. She faltered for a moment, Kirk's lack of response not following the script she had formed on her way here. Goddamnit, Jim. She was left, her heart thrown out on to her sleeve, vulnerable and very much alone.

"Of course I want you here."  
His reply was even more startling than his silence. Hannah's eyes grew, wide as the void outside the window. Kirk took hold of the hand that was still pressed up against his chest, and clutched it tightly.

"I thought I'd lost you," mumbled Hannah, taking her hand back, and wrapping it around Kirk's neck. He lowered his head, tucking it into her neck, and brought his own arms around her waist, holding on to her, tight. They stayed, enveloped in each other, quietly revealing quite how alone they'd felt apart. Life had been manageable, but it was so much nicer together.

"You could never lose me."


	4. Chapter 4

The Enterprise had docked back on Earth, its inhabitants glad to be home, glad to feel true gravity once more. The security of a planet was welcome to all, a collective sigh of relief washing over them as they stepped out of the ship that had become their home, and into the light day of their true home.  
It was a warm day, early autumn gracing them with a warm orange sun that spilled over the leaves, encouraging them to change their colour. There was a softness about the world, a delicacy in its transition between seasons. The shift from summer to autumn left the natural world vulnerable in an inexplicable way; the freshness of summer still lingered, but underneath lay the bitter aftertaste of decay that heralded the approaching winter days.

Hannah was the last but one to leave the Enterprise, this only being her second time on this planet, in this time. A shiver ran through her, despite the warmth of the afternoon light. Her blood chilled in her veins, dreading stepping on the ground, coated in a sticky-looking tarmac. It seemed to swirl below her, a pool of oil waiting to swallow her, drag her down slowly into the depths of this world's politics. Her soul circled her feet, trying to trip her up as she continued to leave the ship she loved behind. She could feel the rhythm of her heart changing, increasing, becoming more and more erratic, a fear pounding, pounding, pounding. Her stomach contracted itself, pulling and straining, trying to stretch back to the ship, to go back to where it was safe. She didn't trust this world, she didn't understand it, she couldn't live here - go through that trial once more. She could be decreed a war criminal once more.

She gripped her fingers in her fist, crushing them with a tight grip that ground her joints together. Her very bones crumbled into dust, compacted again, and drove her nails into her palms. She could feel the blood welling up under her nails, putting pressure on them, forcing the nail away from the nail bed, but still she walked. She lifted her head, looking straight forwards, eyes hard, staring into the bright sky to excuse her eyes, which grew damp against her will. She blinked. And the dampness was gone. Turbulent blood tossed itself around her body, taking new pathways. She felt as though all her body had switched places. Her heart was in her throat, her blood and lymph had traded places, she couldn't breathe - her lungs weren't working. Her throat closed - the heart blocking its pipes - something pressed on her windpipe, crushing it, stopping air from moving through into her lungs.  
Still, she walked the plank.

She walked on to the Earth that lay beneath her, and joined the crew waiting at the bottom. An unfamiliar face, and an all too familiar uniform screamed at her. Hannah kept looking straight ahead, ignored the demand in her skull to turn around, to look, to acknowledge the officer until she drew level with her. Hannah finally, finally, dragged her gaze around to look at the woman in front of her.

She stood, feet comfortably apart (a shoulder's width apart, weigh balanced between the two feet), her hands loose at her sides (allowing her to move with freedom quickly), watching Hannah move with a cautiously guarded expression.

"I presume you're here for me?" Hannah asked, looking the woman straight in the eye. A curt nod. It was a sharp movement, no denying its existence, but it did not linger. There was no pity here. Hannah loosened her grip on her own fingers, and let out the breath she didn't realise she had held. "Lead the way."

* * *

Kirk found himself pacing outside the room, not permitted entry to the hearing. It was not like his 'cheating' hearing had been - the whole of Star Fleet seemingly assembled in one room to hear his digression from the well-trodden path. No. Hannah sat on the other side of the door in a small room, a conference room, being interrogated no doubt by several different Ambassadors and Admirals. He couldn't hear the words being spoken, but equally, couldn't help but to strain his ear, trying desperately to learn what the outcome was decided upon.  
Hannah didn't know he was there. He had merely seen her disappear into the room by accident, and decided that he couldn't leave her alone - maybe his proximity would somehow be a comfort to her?

He was fooling himself by thinking he would do any good by wearing holes in the carpet with his pacing. He had _stuff_ to do after all. Meetings to arrange. Places to be. People to see.  
You know. Captain stuff. Be a Captain, Kirk. Go. Leave. Go do your job. Don't creep in the corridor like a… a creepy person.

Kirk looked once more at the room, hoping it might open, but it remained shut, blinking back at him with its unturning handle. He dragged his head back around and then slowly, slowly, walked away from the door.

* * *

Three Admirals and their First Officers stood and stared down the apparent-mutinous woman, their decree made. The details of her remaining punishment had been decided. Admiral Fitzpatrick had announced to the room at large as though it were a great chamber, demanding enunciation, along with pomp and circumstance, not a small conference room. He was amongst the last to leave the room, held back by a choked out ask, a single word held in the air on a thread of gratitude:

"Admiral?"  
He turned to look back at Hannah, and steadily held her gaze. A raise of the eyebrow invited her to continue speaking but she faltered. Upon being given permission, she found the words choked in her throat, strangled together into an incoherent mesh of incomprehension.

"Yes, Cadet?" He encouraged. Hannah nodded and continued speaking.

"I want to thank you for your generosity. Allowing me to, you know," Hannah fumbled over her words, gesturing wildly at the room and floundering hopelessly. She looked away from the Admiral and rubbed the back of her neck vigorously. It turned red raw within seconds of her touch, her discomfort screaming from the back of her neck, the faint wisps of hair tumbling from the knot she'd fastened them into hours earlier barely covering the red flesh. She swallowed, hard. She nodded once more. "Thank you. Admiral. I appreciate what you've done for me."  
The Admiral broke his convention and smiled at the young woman. It was a warm smile, filled with compassion and forgiveness. It was what Hannah needed to see in that moment.

"Do you have a place to stay whilst we sort your accommodation?" He asked, concern furrowing his brow. Hannah nodded, a smile finally gracing her own lips.

"I'm sure one of the crew of the Enterprise will be willing to host me."

* * *

McCoy was sat in the closest bar to Headquarters as possible, a glass half drained, and a contentedness filling his stomach; content to be back on solid ground. The tension that had lived with him for years seemed to have vanished from his shoulders, relaxed at the existence of real gravity, not something generated by a magnetic field. He sighed contentedly into the glass as he raised it to his lips, the dark liquid spilling towards his mouth before it was jostled. The liquid swilling in the tall glass as Hannah threw herself on to his shoulders. She leant forwards, causing him to tilt too close to the bar for comfort, his free hand slamming on to the sticky wood in order to balance himself.

"I'm a doctor, dammit, not a walking stick," McCoy grumbled, as Hannah slid off him and sat in the empty stool next to him. She grinned her apology, kicking his ankles like a small child demanding attention.

"I need a place to stay," She announced, before softening her tone and face. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare room would you?" Hannah grasped his hand, tearing it away from his glass, pleading with him.

"No." The answer was curt, abrupt, very typically Leonard McCoy. McCoy pulled his hand free gently, not unkind in his gesture. "But Jim does - not that you'd need a spare room if you stayed with him."

* * *

The night was dark, all lights quenched under the blanket of night, no glimmers of streetlights to reveal the secrets of the night. The dark night was made darker still with its silence. It was unnervingly silent and a villain walked the streets, skulking in the deep shadows of the night. Hidden under his cloak of shadows, masked in darkness, his dark intentions hidden deeper still, the villain darted from alley to alley. He moved on foot and left no trace. He was hidden carefully, his will was enacted in secret, and his face covered. This was a moment lost to time, unnoticed, undocumented. No one saw the villain, no one remembered his movements.  
But his intent lingered through history, propelling itself into the future and changed the very course of the timeline.

* * *

Far above, in a dimly lit apartment that gazed over the city like a proud parent watching its child play in a park, a woman got out of bed. Hannah padded out of the spare room, her footfalls so soft they were almost imperceptible even to herself. She felt like a ghost, displaced in time, moving without cause, without reason, simply drifting through the apartment for the sake of drifting. Untethered, she meandered into the small kitchen, plates still sitting by the sink. She moved towards them, looking out of the window that gazed across the city. Her eye fell to the horizon, looking at the wider world, and missing the darkness directly below. The only light that emitted out from within the apartment itself was the gentle glow of a replicator, still humming slightly as it would never switch off properly. A malfunctioning piece of equipment lighting her way around the dishes as she washed up, the gentle run of a tap echoing loudly in her ears.

She placed the last dish in the rack, and placed her hands either side of the sink, a sigh falling from her, sinking her back down to earth. She shut her eyes to the world and let herself breathe. She let herself grieve.

Her lower lip trembled despite herself, and she pressed it together, holding the sob inside her. Her shoulders shook with the effort of keeping her tears silent as they slipped from her eyelids and tumbled down her face, a torrent of a river wreaking its course where it willed. She stood there a long time. She stood and cried for all that had happened to her and all that hadn't, she wept for the life she had deserved and been denied.

When the tears finally stopped flowing, Hannah relaxed a tension in her shoulders, the muscles loosening back into their covering of skin, no longer standing to attention, demanding to be seen. Catharsis had not been a thing she had believed in until this moment, when the tears had taken the weight of the pain with them. She would never be free from the pain that resounded through her every time she was reminded of her ordeal, but she felt, just here, just now, that she didn't have to carry it close to her chest all the time. She could let it rest, settle against her wherever it fell and not strain herself trying to hold herself together - her hand had holding back the ebb of blood over a wound, and finally it had scabbed.

Her relief was such that she didn't see Kirk leaning against his doorway as she delicately padded back into her room.  
Sleep came easy to her that night, and when she awoke, the morning was bright, the air fresher and crisp. The day welcomed her as warmly as the night had sheltered her.

And then the warmth grew and the day exploded into chaos.


End file.
